Anguish and Desire

"How are you supposed to act in the face of injustice? Human citizens are experts at turning a blind eye. Good people do not act in law but out of goodwill and conscience. However, following those laws and rules and playing with them is what, in theory, makes the species civilized. Organized? Structured? Common sense gets bogged down between laws, articles, subsections, and exceptions to the rule, while the virtues get muddied with thoughts of revenge and rage. Others, faced with despair or rather hopelessness, blocked, immobile, and incapable, simply think about dying and do so in many ways, not just by committing suicide. So, the scale does not make sense because that scale exists to maintain oppression and order, which does not allow any type of justice, only anguish, and desire for revenge. But revenge is not justice; justice is not divine but human. That selfishness of others made me think that even those who said they had made the revolution, in reality, it was a violent emotion of times of revenge, not of justice. They were not at all expecting a future, and now they had it. Perhaps they were in times of anguish and desire. Yes, I had it too. Even at that time, I kissed her against the wall, but those were different times, and that kiss marked me more than it did her. In her selfishness, she triumphs, and I? I just want to leave and inspire.  I, who generate anguish to be free and desire. For being who I am. Doesn't he remember the fights he fought for her? Did the story not reach her ears? 

In the oppression of the norm, the rule, the law, the article, the verse, the contradiction, and the interpretation, the human being finds reason to become mute and crazy, or loud and also crazy—violent. It is admirable the fate of those who never have to meet them, their interpreters, and those who use those numbers and words like whips. Is it destiny or luck? It is a reality in which a miserable little man finds a way to puncture young and free minds, to drive them crazy and break them. Thus, in such a blatant way, it is difficult to believe that others have not realized and allowed injustice. So, How can we not learn the silent cry from impotence? He could have called her and had sex with her for any reason, but he couldn't stand her. Neither he nor he could stand himself, only falling into desire and not into a conversation that went beyond the hatred, anguish, and frustration that she had. With her prayers, her false spirituality, and her little intellectuality. So, trapped, he wanted to get out of her... or he wanted to at least enjoy her solitude. But they wouldn't allow it between the heat and these stupid days. She would have accepted it because of the time she had gone without sex and because of all the lovers who had penetrated her and bathed her in semen. She loved him; she didn't just like him. But he didn't her, and that made her even more desperate. Tonight, she would take her rosary and, tying her neck, she would take out her dildo and, leaving her prayers aside, she would masturbate until she had her orgasm before going to sleep. Alone.

Time was their best ally, lawyers who made the terms overcome and break the patience and brains of those who would save society. It was the only way they would be remembered while they fucked up existence because then they would sadly fall into oblivion, and their victims would be remembered as martyrs of modern society. And dirty. Names of unfortunate and vile human beings, of imbeciles and petty characters who were not even villainous and influential enough that their names are lost among the papers of their written and dusty oppressions. Leaves that get wet and fade and end up in landfills, not even burned. Rotting like what they supposedly left as a legacy. But no, they didn't even leave a legacy of echoes. Naked, we looked at each other - But... She said I have a Teflon suit- and I can only laugh.  Every time we merged, we escaped from this world and got lost in our looks, flavors, and sounds. Maybe he never gave me more permission than I really wanted or made my body and my being feel beyond his rules, but there was no anguish, no longing, nothing. Only freedom. Isn't that what love is about? Isn't it about love, being lovers? -You know - I said to her, looking into her eyes before kissing her - We are free, my girl. And she responded to me, without smiling - I'm not your girl, I'm a woman, and I'm not your wife either... - After that, the only thing that could happen was something, a kiss and making love again.

All that exhausts. All that is brutalizing. And sadly, he leaves the humans lying on the ground with no other intention than to let himself die. It could be said that they mostly win because they take advantage of the loneliness, lack of empathy, and indifference of those who can do something about injustice. Then, those indifferent people send their messages of condolences, seeking to be innocent and, of course, justifying their inaction when everyone knows that indifference is complicity. They survive but are guilty of those who are faced with helplessness, helplessness, and loneliness and can do nothing but let themselves die or accelerate their own non-existence. There is not enough power on his part to make me faint - I told myself in my solitude while, on the last night of July, I took the first sip of that bottle of Dominican rum. Maybe the balance has broken - I told myself - and five years ago, I had to leave with betrayal, contempt, and fear of the unknown. Like those brave people who managed to do it today, they are happy and free, even without comfort. Next week, we will cry together, I wrote to my friends with anguish and desire. And there, far away, we will be free, even if only for a few hours, to think about another world, other nations, and other humans better than us, better than those who oppress and surround us."

Libertad. Libertad. Libertad.

"¿Cuantas veces ocurrió aquel respiro profundo, aquella inspiración e inspiración que llena los pulmones y libera la mente, en el que la libertad se siente, a pesar que es una idea? ¿Alguna vez se camina por el pasto húmedo en una mañana fresca, con los pies desnudos, sin importar el tiempo, sin miedo y sin pensar salvo ahora en que alguna vez ocurrió, siendo conscientes de la existencia de la libertad? ¿Aquella vez, desnudos, solitarios, no se tuvo ni pudor, ni temor de la desnudez, en el que la libertad como más que un concepto tiene sentido? Libertad. Libertad. Libertad. Sentí aquella emoción al escuchar aquella canción, que más que un himno, es un grito de esperanza en medio de la desesperación. Si, un nuevo llamado a la violencia contra todos los miedos y la opresión misma. Contra los opresores, contra nosotros mismos para que después, entre los muertos, la sangre y las lágrimas, podamos entender lo que significa. Pensar, actuar, amar. Escribir. No hay un suspiro en estos tiempos en los que el que oprime, disfruta. Si, ¿acasó se entenderá lo que significa? Libertad. Libertad. Libertad.

Los humanos insignificantes, aquellos que no entienden lo que es la posibilidad de emanciparse y amar, de hacer del mundo un lugar mejor y más aún, desenmarcar la mente y aquello que es llamado espiritu por quienes creen en algo antes que en ellos mismos, para poder lograr no solo liberar la mente, sino los cuerpos. Si, desnudos, si, mentes claras en las que el odio solo es una palabra del pasado que sus ancestros usaban para llamar a la venganza. "¿Acaso no hay mejor igualdad que la desnudez misma? Pero no pierdo mas el tiempo en intentar hacerte pensar en la libertad. Sobre todo porque no quieres hacerlo, y en tu tristeza y frustración (si, sexual), prefieres creer en las conspiraciones, en las rabias, en los odios y quejarte de que solo quieren simplemente llenarte de placer y de deseo o mas bien, aspirarlo de ti. Pero, esto va mas alla de orgasmos y gemidos. Se requiere hablar y pensar. Sentir y a pesar que dices hacerlo, en realidad no es sensaciones, sino sentimientos. 

Da cierta compasión aquellas personas tan pequeñas que buscan ese poder designado, ni siquiera elegido, para oprimir a los otros. Ellos, disfrutan ser pensados de la única manera en la cual pueden serlo: con asco, desesperación, rabia y temor. Cuando ya pierden su podercito, rápidamente son olvidados. Sus nombres permanecen solo el tiempo de su designación. ¿Como podrían trascender? Una apología al desgraciado podría traer algo de sus actos, pero nunca su nombre. Ni siquiera se logra que sean recordados, mas allá de los papeles y actas que ellos han hecho plasmar su nombre para simplemente esperar el momento en el que sea borrada aquella evidencia de su insípida existencia, porque eso, no es vida. Una segunda cerveza sería meritoria, pero no estaba muy seguro si dormiría bien. Tal vez buscaría mejor una tizana o algo así mientras terminaba de escribir aquello que estaba pendiente desde hace varios días. Tenía, en medio de la opresión de un sistema creado por humanos para joder a los mismos, la posibilidad de una libertad enmarcada dentro de las paredes mismas de la civilización. Lograba escribir, hacer el amor y desplegar un poco de subversión en medio de todo lo evaluado y aprobado. En las mañanas, tenía esa posibilidad de robarle minutos a la productividad e igual tentar a los capataces cuyos látigos son de otro tipo, pero peor de dolorosos, pues no solo generaban un dolor físico. Si, es la libertad enmarcada en el sistema, o mas bien, ignorada mayoritariamente, aunque haya alguno que la nota y desea acabarla. Ante esto, es mejor un trago de algo y no una tizana.

Sin embargo, aunque contradictorio, no todos merecen esa compasión, aunque tampoco se trata de venganza, sino de justicia, de acción y no de aguante, que eso eso lo que diferencia la resistencia de la abnegación. La libertad molesta a quienes no la tienen y quieren hacer pensar que ella, depende de su decisión. Los que logran tenerla mas allá del sistema incluso ante la opresión de los seres insignificantes, son humanos espectaculares que con esa liberación misma, inspiran y hacen que los pequeños humanos sientan miedo y se sientan peor: no por eso van a dejar de ser unos miserables, unos desgraciados. Sin duda alguna, aquellos humanos libres son maravillosos y gracias a ellos, la humanidad entiende el valor de la libertad misma, que va mas alla de cualquier posible deseo. Si, la extraño a pesar de las mujeres después de ella. Y no volverá a ser. De eso se trata la vida y en esa libertad, me digo antes de ir a dormir que tuve la fortuna de amarla y sentir ese amor por ella. Y de ella. Y si, han pasado muchas noches y en la desesperación, para calmarme, solo me digo que ella esta bien, antes de alguna de las luchas que me deparan todas las mañanas, mientras ella afortunadamente duerme en algún lado, después de hacer el amor con su nuevo amante. Igual, soy libre de recordarla y libre de amar a las otras, aunque ninguna como ella."

Précieux et Appréciables

"Il paraitre que n'existe pas le droit à la connaissance ou plutôt à valoriser et se différencier. Le droit au rêve, et à la pas croyance dans les humaines, la responsabilité et la valeur qui donne cet devoir sans devenir quelqu'un arrogant. Quelqu'un que trouve dans l'intelligence, la création, le raisonnement et l'intellectualité le droit à une évolution et une émancipation. Et même si on rencontre dans l'empathie et la joie de l'appréciation, sinon l'inspiration qui donne l'art et la nature, la vrai spiritualité, pas les divinités, les humaines comme ça, en liberté et fraternité pareil, ils sont pénalisés. Peut être parce se-croient ils précieux et appréciables.  Mais l'appréciation dans la rage et pas la calme, elle est très relativisée. Une fois encore, il avait accepté pour qu'elle ne se sente pas rejetée. Elle a eu ses orgasmes, ses baisers, il a eu son sexe oral, son éjaculation, avant qu'elle ne s'en aperçoive. Puis il a fait semblant. Il a ensuite repris la conversation pour vous voir plus tard, alors qu'elle lui a simplement dit qu'il n'était pas un grand amant. Et elle avait raison. Beaucoup. Après sa douche, il ne se sentait pas mal. Ni satisfait ni coupable. C'est arrivé et c'était quelque chose qui devait arriver pour quitter le pédé - se dit-il. Ensuite, bien sûr, plus tard, il essayera de parler comme si de rien n'était et ensuite avec elle et en fait, Il le dirai, comme si tout s'était passé, une des ses phrases ridicules de réseaux social que ce qui s'est passé s'est produit et qu'il est plus facile de demander pardon que de demander la permission, mais de toute façon, ils étaient deux adultes et amis. Ouais. Amis.

La langue est insuffisante. Les mots, et la façon comme les hommes se communiquaient quand ils ne sont pas en train de déployer juste son avis et pas d'écouter les autres, ils ne sont pas aussi completes pour exprimer une idée et il est pour ça la nécessité de la pluralité, le plurilinguisme et le leadership, du pilotage des autres et des idées. Alors, la responsabilité et  le critique d’un rôle ne nécessite pas de différenciation? Hiérarchie? Il faut une autre mot probablement, mais l'estructure, la prise des décisions et les conséquences, la responsabilité et la prise de connaissance, l'entraînement, la route de vie pour les assumer ont de valeur. Dans la nature. Dans l'humanité même.  Tout le monde a sa fête. Avant la violence. Bien sûr, elle serait dans la sienne. Le rejet, même s'il était en privé, plus pour elle que pour lui, la blessa tellement qu'elle essaya simplement de dire du mal de lui : ennuyeux (malgré ses rires), mauvais sexe, malgré ses orgasmes, multiples et recherche. Mauvais homme, même si elle était une traîtresse et une espionne en plus. Qui veillait à leurs intérêts. C’était l’époque où il valait sans doute mieux s’éloigner de ces villes où la fête était pour les autres, pour K. mais pas pour lui.

On se dit alors qu'il pourra avoir une fraternité entre différents. Il est facile entre égaux mais la communication et la construction de la vision commune est un merveilleux défi pout l'individu comme pour l'humanité même, parce qu'il faut en liberté reconnaître l'autre, reconnaitre sa valeur, sa différentiation et sa position en justice, d'abord humaine parce que eux sont humaines. Après, il sera une question de la nature, pas d'aucune divinité. Donc, la responsabilité même rend la vie de cet être humain appréciable. A quarante ans, elle avait raison. Elle a dû de me faire foutre parce que je n'arrivais pas à la convaincre ni à lui donner des arguments pour qu'elle puisse changer les conneries qu'il y avait dans sa tête et je ne pouvais pas simplement profiter de son sexe oral et de ses conversations sexuelles. Le plus triste, c'est que comme elle, il y avait des milliers, des millions de femmes seules et belles dans le monde, qui ne peuvent qu'être amantes et répéter ce que les médias leur disent. Et ils le contredisent. C'est pour ça que j'ai arrêté de lui parler et à chaque nouvelle bêtise, je ne réponds plus, je lui envoie juste une vidéo d'une blague, quelque chose à double sens, même si parfois je tombe dans la tentation de lui envoyer quelque chose pour le faire réfléchir un peu. Elle ne peut que prier, se masturber et, avec le prochain homme sur son applications des rendez-vous, avoir des relations sexuelles sauvages avant d'être à nouveau abandonnée.  Elle n'a pas reçu une seule phrase de ma part depuis des mois, seulement des émoticônes et des vidéos. Et elle ne l'a pas remarqué.

Quoi rend la vie d'un être humain appréciable, valorisée et remarquable?. Etre visible, c'est mal?, et être anonyme et absent aussi? Les questions ne sont pas les correctes, mais les réponses ont des mauvais configurations des phrases, toujours insuffisants. et c'est pourquoi la recherche et la construction du savoir, la reconnaissance de la diversité, de ce qui est différent, du savoir mais aussi de ce que signifie l'obtenir pour développer l'humanité est importante. Trouvez les mots nouveaux et les formes appréciables. Reconnaissez-les, découvrez-les ou rendez-les visibles s'ils sont déjà là. Précieux et appréciables. Un peu de blanc suffisait. L'été a garanti ce plaisir que procure l'acidité et la froideur de ce vin, surtout un 14. Elle le regardait de ses yeux clairs. Elle avait appris à l'aimer, lui et lui. Beaucoup. Sûr, parce que leurs journées ensemble avaient une date d'expiration. C'est pourquoi chaque nuit était fantastique, même dans les moments où il la regardait simplement nue dormir, le dos découvert. Quinze ans plus tard, et un peu plus de dix ans sans rien savoir d'elle, Il pense à elle. Et il est reconnaissant pour ces moments précieux et adorables. Et il 'était reconnaissante pour ces moments précieux et adorables, avec un peu de vin blanc et loin, très loin de la vallée du Grésivaudan."

Frustration, Anger and Irrationality

"Humans have learned to remain silent for different reasons. One is because the interlocutor will not understand the reasoning or ideas constructed and transmitted. In these times, there is so much frustration (especially sexual), the anger of that potential interlocutor, and the irrationality that no idea can influence or impact that person, no matter how wonderful it may be. So it can only be reduced or transmitted to an image of another, a short video, or a lie because it is not worth it. One comes not to accept, but rather to abnegate, that blockage of the other because despite all the empathy, their hatred and stupidity surpass any goodwill. Even any possible desire (to end sexual frustration). Lying is more comfortable. The creation to deploy it that technology and propaganda provide is perhaps what, in some way, in their stupidity, these humans appreciate. The silence of the others, of those who simply think a little, is optimistic to know, and of course, despite the disappointments, frustration does not cause them anger; it is the only possible response. In order not to waste time or words, which today, we must protect them more than ever. The interesting thing about having sex with her was not listening to her. and that was detestable. She is a forty-year-old Caucasian woman. She calls herself spiritual, but she is religious. She says she is happy, but she is not, and even worse, she is terribly susceptible to the hatred and stupidity generated by others. However, she was an excellent lover; she enjoyed sex in her prudishness and double standards, but that still made her more human. That's why the list of lovers she had in her life was complicated. But even those who were like her: frustrated, Caucasian, forty-something, afraid, angry, and stupid, did not stay with her. They saw themselves reflected, and that was unbearable. And it was sad in her life. The system, modern sexuality, was responsible for continuing to feed that hatred in his heart between orgasm and orgasm. Between ejaculation and ejaculation received on her chest.

Frustration, Anger, and Irrationality were not supposed to exist in a human civilization that has advanced extraordinarily in understanding its environment and abstracting what it does not understand about the universe and itself. It is not a question of ignorance; it has been said many times. And yes, human greed has much to do with it, but also the susceptibility to ambition that causes meanness. So I understand these two things at least and accepting the catastrophe, and that greedy, stupid, unempathetic attitude of some others, of course, silence, appears, but not to give acceptance and recognize that terrible and irrational attitude, but because another type of response is possible. Other kinds of interlocutors exist. And it is unfair to say that the majority is stupid or ignorant, no. That majority is silent and fearful. He had used artificial intelligence to show her for what she is: a Caucasian sensual woman who represents Frustration, Anger, and Irrationality. Without a doubt, more sexual frustration. The image was a symbolic and abstract representation of a caucasian woman in red, white, and blue, embodying the concepts of anger,  frustration, and ignorance. For free artificial intelligence, it was not common in language to differentiate between stupidity and irrationality. The woman is central in the scene, with distinct elements around her to visually display these emotions, such as dark clouds symbolizing anger, a maze representing frustration, and a blindfold signifying ignorance.  Maybe he was missing a cell phone in his hand. Maybe her blonde hair. Definitely his glasses. The woman in the concept carries a stern expression, holding clenched fists, with outfit colors reflecting the scene's mood. Without a doubt, it was her. And upon seeing that representation, she would hate and desire him more. She was like that.

In today's humanity, distractors and any type of idea confuse reasoning and sensations/feelings: pleasure with joy or happiness is perhaps the most common. Also, indignation with complaint or gossip, the important thing with urgent, lying, or superficial. Confusion and how, even in moments of despair, it can be monetized is the success of current civilization because it maintains the market, added by needs and ambitions that will never be satisfied, thanks to the confusion. The system is horribly profitable and horrifyingly unsustainable, but it doesn't matter. Laziness is part of the success of confusion. Rain. It was one of those afternoons/nights to not be alone and I was. She opened the third bottle of high-value/priced wine of the week and enjoyed it, although somehow she would have liked to share it with one of them before making love to her. But that was the problem. Some of them were not the answer. So, he had himself that way. All of them were in the past, and at his age, the present mattered. Not the future. Not even yesterday, which she already knew she would tell him. Nothing new, as she said, the unmentionable.

But it is interesting when people meet and can talk: listen to each other, communicate, build and yes, emerge and regenerate. The suffering that comes from helplessness does not have much to do with frustration in the end and it is pleasant when, in humanity itself, that disappointment is shared and that possibility of construction is shared. The suffering that comes from helplessness does not have much to do with frustration in the end, and it is pleasant when, in humanity itself, that disappointment is shared, and that possibility of construction is conveyed. Then, something arises that goes with happiness, brotherhood, and love, which is a possibility.  Change only happens when and with those who want and think. But thinking for some is complicated. So the best thing is to find those with whom you do not remain silent but rather laugh and talk together. It is shared. After the second beer, he dared to express what he had felt since the first time he met her. And the next morning, over the first coffee of the day, they could only smile and talk. Listen to yourself. Their bodies had been heard for several hours in the night, as had not happened in a long time, and then, at dawn together, before the other woke up, she understood that she was in the right place and, finally, at the right time. He felt her gaze. He woke up calmly and slowly. He was pleased to see her again. They made love again, not with all the night's words but with the tenderness of a morning and the need for intensity. Without fear, without regard for fear. Later, at the cafe, she smiled and sighed. Finally."